1

One would be surprised at the tenacity of ants. Heedless of whatever dangers the world has in store for them, day after day they get up, leave the safety of their underground tunnels, and forage for food in an environment that clearly sees them as either pests, or food. Regardless, every morning the ant springs forth from its home and braves the hostile world of spiders and birds looking for a meal, just to find food for its queen, so she could lay eggs and hatch other ants who, in turn, would go look for food to feed the queen, who would then lay eggs who would go look for food to feed the queen who would then perpetuate the cycle.

One such line of ants wound its way past me, presumably looking for food under the tree I was currently using for whatever meager shelter could be gotten from it. Ever forward the ants traversed , fazed not in the least by what must to them have looked like a raging river of red water plowing straight for them. Water? No, blood. My blood! “Damn-it!” Fox swore loudly, placing a hand on the bleeding wound located on his backside and pointedly ignoring the snickers of the workers walking past. His head was foggy, like he was just waking up from a night out on the town, and much too much to drink. He remembered walking out of the inn he and his companion were staying in, with the intention to deliver an amulet to....someone at.....someplace. He shook his head, hoping that he had already delivered it to its intended destination, because seeing as he was missing his pants, as well as the rest of his clothing and gear, Fox was pretty sure he had been robbed.

He stood, with an effort, and began to make his way back to the inn, wading as much of his small cloths over the stab wound as he could manage and still cover as much of himself as possible to staunch the flow of blood that still coursed freely down his leg, and cursed whatever cowardly and demented devil stabbed him in the arse with a poisoned dagger, as he reasonably concluded that poison was the only possible culprit likely to cause his current, presumably temporary, memory loss. The sharp cobble on the road poked at his bare feet as he walked back in what he hoped was the direction of the inn.

The neglected warehouses on either side of the street gave off a spooky atmosphere in the early morning light. People were beginning to stir, unfortunately as that meant there were more people around to witness his walk of shame. It was less the stares that bothered him, and more the snikkering, giggling, and out rite unashamed laughing that made him angry. Offer a cloak to the naked bleeding man? NO SIR! But trudge on he did, growing ever more confident of two things as he limped ever forward. The first was that judging by the more care put into maintaining the buildings and the smell of the baking bread, roasting meet, and morning urination's, he was coming into the more populated part of town. And the second, was that he had not, indeed, delivered the amulet to its intended destination.

Mercifully, it only took another quarter hour to limp to the inn where he and his companion were staying, the proverbial dark clouds over his head growing ever more dark and ominous as more and more people saw him, and were amused by his situation. “At least,” he thought “I have stopped bleeding.” The Drunken Boar was the kind of inn that gave hole in the wall establishments a bad name. The unsavory clientele that often frequented the institution were often humorless mutes, but did seem to be able to make an exception for the glaring man staggering in the front door clutching his rear and glaring death at any who dared to make the slightest hint of a sound. This, of course, hindered not the cat calls and taunts of the rogues and miscreants who occupied the common room. He winced every time he took a step up the narrow stair case that led to the suite of rooms above the bar and common room where he would find a clean set of cloths and bandages for his wounds, if not for his pride.

Each plank on the floor creaked ominously as he limped down to his companions door, and the hallway seemed to grow darker the closer he came to his dreaded destination. He feared this meeting most of all. The others would go on their way, laughing and amused never to be seen or heard from again, but he had to travel with Dendara. Creek! He took a step. Creek! He took another, his heart pounding in his ears and stopping up the back of his throat. Creek! A final step and he was at the door, a hand raised to knock, when it swung open!

Whomever said the laughter of elves rang like the sweet peel of a silver bell thru a budding meadow by the brook in early spring had obviously never heard Dendara gracelessly guffaw to the point of falling over and nearly passing out. Her sharply angled elvan face pulled back in a jovial open mouthed laugh which would normally be nice to gaze upon, if the cause of said expression were not his normal circumstances.

She finally righted herself and managed, thru fits the fits of giggling, to ask: “If we ignore for the moment that you are standing in my doorway in nothing but your small cloths, I have to ask why you dyed them red?” and promptly fell again to the floor in another burst of uncontrollable laughter interrupted occasionally by a snort, or sharp intake of breath.

“I didn't dye them,” Fox said thru gritted teeth. “They are covered with my blood.”

“Where are you injured?” Dendara asked after a few more moments of collecting herself and straitening her robes. Fox then turned around and slipped off his small cloths, along with the last bit of dignity he had managed to hold onto since he woke up naked in the middle of the street.

Author's Note

I wrote this on OpenOffice and for some reason the indentations at the head of paragraphs did not copy over. Also I have no idea why one of my paragraphs is in a box. My apologies.

Reviews

[Nod]

Sorry for reviewing so late! I went to the pool, and had my chapter to write on top of that. I finally finished it, so here I go.

The beginning was good. I liked the talk about ants and how they were willing to do anything for their queen, and how the queen would give birth to new ants, and so the cycle would repeat. What I didn't like was that the talk about the ants had nothing to do with Fox. I honestly expected there to be a connection between the ants' tenacity and Fox's character or current situation, but there wasn't (or maybe I'm just stupid).

From then on, I thought the writing would be in first person, but you immediately changed to third. My suggestion is to either change the second paragraph so it corresponds with the rest of the writing, or make everything in first person (I would prefer the latter).

Other than that, I liked your style. The story flowed well, and I got a gist of Fox's character. I'm guessing there's a fantasy element to this book, and I'm a big sucker for that, so I'm looking forward to your other chapters.

And about the lines, or whatever these things are, I'm using Microsoft Word and have no problems with the formatting, so try editing the text there.